


Dear Virginia

by The Little MerBucky (blue_pointer)



Series: Death Comes Calling [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, America Chavez queen of New York, Angst, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky/Pepper - Freeform, Capsaicin, Cherry - Freeform, Clint Barton you lovable failure, Dark Fantasy, Dodge Challenger ftw, M/M, New Jersey sux, Nick Fury vampire hunter, Pepperony - Freeform, Supreme alpha Bruce Banner, Temporary Character Death, Thriller, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Vampire Bucky Barnes, Vampire Politics, Vampire Sam Wilson, Vampire Steve Rogers, Werewolf Clint Barton, Werewolf Politics, dysfunctional stucky, some winter falcon wishes, werewolf breakfast, werewolves to the rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 16:57:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10835454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_pointer/pseuds/The%20Little%20MerBucky
Summary: Tony is in FBI custody for accidentally shooting a grenade at first responders (it's Steve's fault). Sam and Bucky are arguing over a plan to break Tony out when Steve calls them back. It's not a happy occasion. Bucky warns Steve about the bounty on his head. Sam takes Bucky somewhere safe while Steve gets ready to wage war against Nick Fury.Agents Carter and Hill have some bad news for Tony, and they think he did it. The werewolf team of Riley, Rumlow, and Barton come to Tony's rescue. Clint loses his car. Again.





	Dear Virginia

**Author's Note:**

> There's a romance coming along eventually, I promise.

It was much easier for Sam to find Bucky than it would have been for either of them to find Tony at this remote installation in New Jersey. “God, it stinks!” Bucky made a face. 

“It’s Jersey,” Sam pointed out, using Bucky’s phone to quickly text Riley the coordinates. 

“You think they’re trying to hide his scent?” Bucky asked through his sleeve, covering his nose and mouth in hopes of keeping some of the factory smog out. 

“No, I don’t think they have any clue what’s up yet. But we have a bigger problem.” 

“What do you think?” Bucky had been trying to work out an exit strategy since they’d taken Tony out of the van. “Maybe tunnel up from underneath?” 

“Yeah, that’s a great plan, Hogan. Maybe if we do it around dinner time, Sergeant Schultz will be too busy eating to notice we’re gone.”

Sitcom references usually meant Sam was making fun of him. “Well what’s your idea?” he asked, feeling testy. There was no telling when Steve might show up. 

“Bucky, someone called in the Cleaner.” 

“What?” Sam had his full attention now. “Why would they do that?” 

“I don’t know, maybe when you blow up the upper west side could be you make a few enemies?” 

“Chavez?” They hadn’t dealt with her in years, but there were reasons Bucky and Steve lived in Brooklyn, and they weren’t all sentimental. 

“Or Chinatown, who knows?” Sam shrugged. “The point is--”

“We’ve gotta warn Steve.” Bucky was already standing up to go. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Sam grabbed his wrist. “We gotta take care of us. Steve brought this on himself. He should have to deal with it.” 

“I can’t do that, Sam,” Bucky said, with that mother-hen look on his face. “I can’t just abandon him.” 

“What exactly do you plan on doing once we break the kid out?” Sam asked him. “Just hand him back over to Steve?” 

Bucky pressed his lips together. “No.” 

“Oh, so you were gonna hand him off to us and just go back to him? Wait for him to attack my family in California over a dead kitten?” 

His eyes were sad. “No, Sam. I wouldn’t do that to you.” 

“Then what? How does going back to Steve figure anywhere in your plans?” 

Bucky clenched and unclenched his fists. “I can’t leave without at least warning him about Fury.” 

Same shook his head. “Man, you are unbelievable.”

The fight could have gone on, but all of a sudden both of their heads snapped in the direction of the city, like dogs hearing an ultrasonic whistle. “No,” Bucky gasped. 

“Shit.” They took off together. 

 

*

 

Bucky’s first instinct was to pull a Steve and crash through the window. But it was a well-built as well as a posh apartment complex. Crashing through double-paned reinforced windows was not the way to go. They flew up the fire escape, went in the back way. Something inside Bucky was screaming. These scents, so recent in his memory. His shoulders hunched, trying to keep in all the emotions.

The apartment door was ajar. Of course it was. What did Steve care about discretion or privacy...or safety? He shut and locked it behind them, thinking of Fury--not that a locked door was much defense against the Cleaner. 

In the bedroom, Steve lay curled next to the body, looking pleased with himself. 

“Welcome, fellas,” he greeted them with a smirk. 

“No!” The sound was a nearly-silent cry of dismay, accompanied by Bucky’s psyche collapsing in on itself. This is what a black hole must feel like, a detached part of his mind observed.

“You’re just in time to meet your new sister.” Steve’s smile was sharp and full of fangs. “Well...she’ll sleep for a few days now, but…”

“No no no no no no no!” Bucky moved swiftly to the bed, taking her hand, brushing copper strands back from her pale cheek. Pepper’s skin was stone cold. He curled in on himself, finally forced to accept it, holding her hand, keening softly.

“What’s wrong, Buck?” Steve looked genuinely curious. “I thought you’d be happy.”

“Man, what the hell is wrong with you?!” Sam spat.

“Samuel.” Steve smirked at him, turning his full attention on Sam, and it wasn’t a comfortable feeling. “Come to pay your respects this time, I see.”

“You’re outta your damn mind if you think I have even an ounce of respect for you, sucker.”

Steve laughed. “I like that joke. Tell another one.”

“Listen, cracker, I am not your--” Sam couldn’t talk anymore, because his trachea was no longer able to move air.

“Go on,” Steve said, tilting his head like a curious cat.

“Stevie, don’t!” Bucky ran up behind him, wrapped his arms around Steve, gently trying to pull him away from Sam. “Please, I can’t--I can’t take any more tonight. Please, Steve.” And surprisingly, Steve let go.

“Bucky.” He turned to his mate, looking at him with concern, stroking his hair and wiping the tears from his cheeks. “I did this so we could be happy. Like before. She can be our new Peggy. You’ll see. It’ll be just like before.”

“No, no, Stevie. I don’t want this. I don’t want this!” Bucky struggled to get himself under control. “What happened?” he asked. “I thought you liked her.”

“I do like her, Buck,” Steve explained. “Now we can be together forever and ever. Won’t that be swell?”

“No.”

Sam watched Bucky falling apart, and all he wanted to do was put his arms around him and get the hell out of here. This room that stank of death, this trying so hard to be posh for the man apartment building, this stinking rat’s nest of a city. And more than any of that, he hated Steve. From the depths of his heart. “We should get out of here,” he said, finally, after Bucky had moved back to the bed.

He was tucking Pepper’s clothes back together like a mortician’s assistant, getting her ready to be found by police or...whoever. Steve had left her in the same indecent state that he’d taken her. Perhaps the most shocking thing of all was how peaceful she looked, eyes closed, her lips still stained crimson with Steve’s blood. Looking at her innocent young face, Bucky started to cry again, softly. This was all his fault.

“Come on, brother,” Sam repeated. “Let’s get out of here before you-know-who shows up.”

That reminded Bucky. He turned to Steve, who was lying on the bed, looking tired and miffed. “Stevie, I think we gotta get out of town for a little bit. Fury’s here, sniffing around.”

“Fury?” Steve leaned forward, far too excited at this news.

“Yeah, he’s down at Mount Sinai, checking out the job you did on your new beau’s friend. You should go say hi,” Sam said. Steve smiled at the prospect.

“NO.” Bucky gave Sam a harsh look. “Steve, you have to stay away from the hunter. This is not a pissing contest. He’s been sent here to kill you.”

“Cool!” Steve declared. And Bucky just sagged, tired.

“Come on, man. Let’s get outta here.” Sam walked over and took Bucky’s elbow. “We’ll be good children and go keep an eye on papa’s new toy.”

“That’s a good idea, Sam,” Steve said, sliding out of bed and putting his shoes on. Sam was afraid he was going to have to carry Bucky to the door. The depression was literally weighing him down, but they finally made it.

Out in the hall, they passed a crew of reporters heading for Pepper’s door. “Steve!” Bucky whispered.

“He can take care of himself,” Sam said. “You and me? Gotta get you a passport.”

 

*

 

Being interrogated by FBI agents wasn’t all Tony had dreamed it would be. First of all, why were they so attractive? Gillian Anderson, eat your heart out. The blond one especially.  _ Rowr.  _ Second of all, why did they think he was so stupid? This good cop/bad cop thing was pathetic. It was like they weren’t even trying to get information out of him. Then again, Tony realized, he should probably be happy they weren’t trying harder. The Geneva Convention didn’t always mean a lot to people like this. 

Tony learned the hard way that suspects of domestic terrorism were not allowed a phone call to their lawyer. In fact, they weren’t even allowed lawyers. He’d asked over and over and over and over again. The last time, Hill--she was playing the bad cop, obviously--had backhanded him across the face. That hadn’t felt as good as he’d always imagined it would, either. But maybe if she were wearing some nice black leather boots, a bodice with straps to hold it up…

“Answer the question!” she shouted into his face. Her breath smelled like Fritos and orange soda.

“What was the question again?” Tony was tired beyond tired.

“When was the last time you saw Virginia Potts?” Carter walked closer slowly, her boyishly slim hips mesmerizing. “Pepper, right?” She nodded encouragingly. “Your friend.”

“Pepper?” This was the first time they’d brought her up, and he was pretty sure he’d been here at least three hours. “What about Pepper?” 

“Where were you last night?” Hill demanded. “You were at her apartment, weren’t you?”

“Last night?” Tony tried to remember when he’d been there last. “No. No, it was during the day. We stopped by after the hospital.” He looked up at them, tried to read their faces. “At night, I was too busy blowing up my own neighborhood,” he reminded them. “That’s kind of why we’re here, isn’t it? Pay attention, Hill.”

“You think you’re so funny,” she growled, eyeing the cattle prod in the corner.

“Hey, let’s just--” Carter made some sort of hand gesture, and Hill stalked back to their briefing table, took a seat. Carter came over to perch on the edge of his table. “How long have you known Pepper, Tony? Since you were kids, right?”

Tony shrugged. “You seem to know it already, not sure why you’re asking me.”

“Did Pepper ever do or say something in that time that upset you? Made you feel humiliated? Jealous? Did she ever try to leave?”

Tony gave her an obvious look. “Tell me, did your teenage friends ever make you feel like shit, Sharon?”

“Pipe down and answer the question!” Hill demanded.

“Did your ex-boyfriend ever make you want to bang your head against the wall until you stopped loving him? Ever make you question your life choices?”

“Sounds like you have a lot of feelings about Pepper,” Carter observed, crossing her arms over her chest. Something about what he’d said had made her uncomfortable.

“Hey, why are you suddenly asking about Pepper?” Tony didn’t like it. More and more, he didn’t like it one bit. “Is she here? I wanna talk to her.”

Hill snorted. “You know exactly where she is. Right where you left her.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Tony demanded.  “She wouldn’t even let me in her apartment yesterday. So yeah, that’s where I left her.”

“You had a fight?” Carter prompted.

“Yes--no. She was pissed at me because she went home with some hot guy from the dinner I’d taken her to the night before.”

“That doesn’t sound like anything to be angry about.”

“Right?” If even these dense FBI agents could see it, why couldn’t Pepper? “But women. Go figure.” They both gave him sardonic looks.

“When you had that fight.” Hill rose from the table, leaning forward on her fists. “How angry did she make you? Angry enough to want to do something about it?”

Tony recoiled. “What does that even mean? I’ve done nothing to that woman but give her gifts and orgasms and valuable employment opportunities for the last five years.”

“But you admit it was rocky,” Carter prompted.

Tony shrugged. “Aren’t all long-term relationships?” Not that he was any kind of expert, but. From what he’d observed in life so far. 

“How did your dad treat your mom growing up, Tony?” Hill wanted to know. “Did he sometimes get mad at her, too? Push her around a little?” 

“You leave my mother out of this, Sigmund Freud!” No way were they going to make him talk about his poor dead mother. This whole experience was an exercise in pointless humiliation and a gross violation of his rights and privacy. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Hill said, walking back over, smug. “Is that where you learned to hurt women, Tony? Where you first got a taste for it?” 

“What in Hell’s Bells are you talking about?” Tony was done with this. “Did someone hurt Pepper? Where is she? Is she okay? I want to see her!”

Hill rolled her eyes. “You honestly expect us to believe you don’t know what happened?” 

Carter’s head turned toward her partner. “Hill--”

“That when you last left her apartment, Virginia Potts was still alive?” 

There was a ringing in Tony’s ears. Or maybe he’d gone deaf. Nope, he’d blacked out. Nope, he was screaming. Screaming and kicking, jumping up with his hands still zip-tied to the chair, lashing out at everyone and everything, until more agents rushed in, and they put him down like a dog. 

“I told you not to just come out and tell him,” Sharon said, annoyed. 

“We needed an honest emotional reaction out of him, the little sociopath. And we got it.” 

“What we got is our prime suspect knocked out on tranquilizers for the next few hours. Congratulations. Have fun interrogating him now.” 

“Oh, don’t get your panties in a bunch.” Hill grabbed the files, walking out.  “Just because your aunt used to have sex with his dad doesn’t mean he’s innocent.” 

“Maria, have you been reading my personnel file again? You don’t have clearance!” 

The two agents continued to argue as they passed by. He stood back and let them go, then approached the guard outside the suspect’s door. “Got paperwork here to transfer the prisoner to the next location while he’s unconscious.” 

The soldier looked at him, suspicious. “The agents didn’t say anything to me about--” 

“This order comes from over their heads.” He pointed at the general’s seal on the paperwork, stood back and maintained parade rest while the guard looked at his ID, his security clearance--it was more than high enough--and finally accepted the transfer paperwork. 

“Fine. But they are gonna be pissed when they get back.” 

“Maybe I’d say they had the right to be if they hadn’t already broken the prisoner,” he observed. “You ask me, I say they’re sloppy. The whole reason women shouldn’t be in anti-terrorism.” 

“Too soft?” The young soldier asked, sliding his key card. 

“No,” the big man told him. “Too damn hard. Like they got something to prove.” He walked in, tossed the small body over his shoulder, and left the back way. Sure, he was on camera doing it. But by the time they came looking for him, he’d be long gone. 

 

*

Riley landed at LaGuardia much later than he’d intended. He could feel the spark of the sun hovering just below the horizon, which meant Sam was somewhere beyond arm’s reach, about to become very vulnerable. As he walked to passenger pickup, he turned his phone back on, checked his messages. He was still parsing the information Sam had left him when he passed a line of overtired chauffeurs and drivers holding up signs. One of them looked utterly out of place, a sandy-haired ne’er do well with bloody knuckles and a band-aid over the bridge of his nose. Riley stopped and looked at him. “Who the hell did you piss off to get stuck on pick-up duty?” 

“Lost a bet,” Clint grunted. 

“Come on,” Riley bumped him good-naturedly, and true to form, he did not bump back. Clint Barton wasn’t even high enough in the pack to qualify as omega anymore. He liked to call himself a lone wolf. What he really was was damaged and pathetic. But Riley had a soft spot for damaged people. 

“Wow. Nice car.” Riley whistled appreciatively. 

“It belongs to my ex,” Clint said, carelessly tossing Riley’s bag into the backseat. 

“Which one is that?” Riley asked. “The last one who divorced you, or the one who tried to kill you?” 

“Tried to kill me,” he said proudly. “Twice.” 

“You straight guys have issues,” Riley said. 

“Who died and made you Captain Obvious?” Clint said, slipping behind the wheel. 

Riley clutched his chest. “Captain Obvious is dead?!”

“Alright, bucko, where to?” The engine roared to life with a well-tuned growl. Whatever her taste in men, Clint’s ex had had great taste in cars. 

“A good diner. I haven’t eaten in 8 hours. And then…” Riley sighed. “Jersey.”

“Why the hell would anyone want to go to Jersey?” Clint asked in disgust. 

“Preaching to the choir,” Riley said.

Once they were on the way, he took out his phone again. “Hey. Tell Rumlow Clayton Riley sends his respects. Yeah, I can be reached at this number.”

“Rumlow. Goddamn. You and your vampires play these reindeer games for keeps.”

Riley shrugged. “Play to win or don’t play at all, that’s my motto.”

“Guess you already got the grand poobah’s permission for all of this.”

“Feel free to call Bruce yourself and check,” Riley dared him.  

“No thanks, I’m good.” The supreme alpha of New York just loved getting early morning calls out of the blue from expatriated lone wolves.

“I heard you were middling at best.” Riley took another playful jab.

“Probably more fair,” Clint admitted. “But fuck you anyway.”

 

*

 

Rumlow was waiting for them when they crossed the George Washington bridge. Sam had made the right call; he was good. “Nice car,” he said, as they pulled Clint’s cherry red Dodge Challenger up next to the humvee. The man’s voice was like gravel, maybe chipped from the same granite he looked to be made of. “Trade me.” 

“The fuck I will!” Clint said, reaching for his gun. Before he could blink, Rumlow had him pinned against the driver’s seat, gripping his shoulder so hard, Clint had to swear a blue streak for pain management.

“There’s cameras all over the damn place here, asshole,” Rumlow told him. “Trading cars is way less obvious than me handing over the goods in broad daylight.”

“But I’ll get it back, right?” Clint asked, rolling over far too fast for dignity’s sake.

“Sure,” Rumlow told him, letting go. And then, “Maybe,” he said, as he stepped back, taking another look.

Clint looked to Riley for help, but he just shrugged. “When special forces tell me to do something, I do it.” Clint got out of the car, but he was cursing all the way. “The money should be in your account now,” Riley told the lone wolf, holding up his phone.

“I don’t gotta check,” Rumlow told him, closing the door of the muscle car behind him. “Always ready to do a favor for one of my own.” He extended his arm, and Riley grasped it.

“I’d better get my damn car back,” Clint sulked, sliding into the driver’s seat of the humvee. “It’s got sentimental value.”

“Right,” Riley said, slipping into the back next to the carefully wrapped package lying there. “She tried to kill you TWICE.”

“Twice.”

Once they were on the road again, Riley took the hood off of Tony and checked his vitals. He was surprised to see the boy’s brown eyes open. “Joke’s on them,” he slurred. “Tranquilizers just even me out.”

Riley wasn’t quite sure he agreed with that assessment, given the size of Tony’s pupils. “Good to hear,” he said. “Tony Stark, I’m Riley. We spoke on the phone.”

“You helped me with Rhodey.”

Riley nodded. “How’s he doing?”

Tony looked down, staring at his knees. “They lie to you in FBI interrogations, right? Tell you things that aren’t true, so you’ll give them what they want?”

“That’s standard practice in military interrogations, so if I had to guess, I’d say yeah.” Whatever it was they’d told him, Tony’s scent said it was devastating. “So don’t take it to heart, kid.” He clapped Tony on the shoulder, trying to be encouraging.

Either the tranquilizers or the experience had totally fucked him up, because the next thing he knew, Tony Stark, independent boy billionaire was curled against him like a traumatized pup. Riley wrapped his arms around the kid and held him. There was no such thing as a werewolf too manly to cuddle. The scent of his grief was strong. Even Clint whimpered consolingly from the front seat.

“Where are we going?” Tony asked, unable to conceive of any safe place in the universe after what had happened last night.

“Shit has gone way south,” Riley told him. “And when shit goes this far south, the best thing to do is request sanctuary.”

“Notre Dame?” Tony guessed, feeling punch-drunk.

“Not quite, Quasimodo,” Riley told him. “177A Bleecker Street, Barton.”

“I hate that place,” Clint complained. “Makes me sneeze.”  


End file.
